


Full

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Belly worship, M/M, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock eats after a case. And eats, and eats, and eats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belly stuffing kink fic. If it's not your thing, don't read it.

Sherlock was full. Well, sort of. That is, he had eaten, and was no longer hungry. This in and of itself was rare; for all the times Sherlock put off eating whilst he was on a case, he really didn't eat even when he wasn't gallivanting about London chasing criminals. The fact he'd taken the time to eat, and had eaten more than a single bite of toast, was surprising and somewhat disconcerting. 

What was even more strange was that he decided to eat some more. There was three quarters of a fast-cooling pizza sitting on the table in front of him; leftover from what he'd eaten earlier. He'd set it aside, nearly certain it wouldn't ever be finished after he'd eaten his fill. Now, as he picked up another piece and bit off the cheesy end, Sherlock wasn't sure there would be any pizza left when he was done. 

One more slice, then one more, and another after that, over and over until the box sat empty and Sherlock collapsed back against the sofa. His stomach gurgled lethargically and he laid a hand absently over it, noticing a small roundness under his palm. 

Suddenly, he wanted to see how big that bulge could become. 

Sherlock rose from the couch and sauntered to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and rustling around the shelves until he found something edible. A partial carton of milk, leftover takeout, and a few sticks of mozzarella cheese were set on the table before Sherlock moved to the cupboards, adding a box of biscuits and a loaf of bread to the pile. 

Looking at the random assortment of food before him, Sherlock rubbed his stomach and sat down. He grabbed the takeout first, eating it cold and shovelling forkful after forkful into his mouth, quick as he could. His stomach groaned in protest as he scraped the last of the noodles out of the box and set the container aside, but Sherlock soldiered on. He bit into the first cheese stick and swallowed it in three bites as he unwrapped the second, scarfing it down just as quickly. Two biscuits went down the hatch and he followed them with a swig from the milk carton. 

His stomach was a solid bulge on his middle, straining his bespoke shirt and pressing hard against his waistband. Sherlock moved his hands to the protrusion, pressing lightly against it and grunting in discomfort. He unfastened his trousers and sighed as his gut expanded to fill the gap, removing some of the pressure. 

Time for more food. 

Sherlock slathered a slice of bread with spoonful after spoonful of strawberry jam, chasing each laden bite with a swallow of milk until the loaf of bread was half gone and the milk carton lay empty on its side. Sparks of pain shot from his stomach as it stretched to accommodate the abundance of food inside it, and yet he ploughed on, adding several more biscuits to the mass. Only when the box was empty did Sherlock stop eating. 

Looking down, Sherlock's stomach showed through the gaps in his shirt, straining several inches forward, hot and solid. He wriggled uncomfortably and flicked the buttons on his shirt open, gasping in relief as cool air hit his stretched skin. Sherlock was more full now than he'd been in his life, more food currently sitting in his stomach than he usually consumed in an entire week, but he wasn't satisfied. 

Sherlock's shirt hung loose against his sides and his trousers slid to the floor as he stood from his chair, grunting as he attempted to bend around his distended stomach. The cupboards were very nearly bare, John having not been shopping for several days coupled with the lack of actual cooking done in 221B meaning most food that was eaten was ordered in. 

Sherlock unearthed a box of crackers from the back of one shelf, but nothing else was readily available to consume. He poured a large glass of water and lumbered back to the couch, sinking down into the cushions before tearing into a sleeve of crackers and eating them several at a time.

As he polished off the first sleeve, Sherlock took a long drink of water, feeling it slide down his throat and into his stomach, where it met the dry crackers and soaked them. He winced and groaned as they expanded minutely inside him, clutching at his abdomen for a few moments before the spasm passed. He looked at the rest of the box, torn. Surely he could finish one more sleeve of crackers, empty the box? He closed his eyes and reached for the second sleeve, taking it slower this time as his stomach finally reached its ultimate limit. The last cracker slipped past his lips and Sherlock choked it down, tossing the box weakly to the side and reaching for his water glass. He sipped the water slowly, swallow by swallow until it too was empty and cast aside. 

Sherlock's stomach was rock-solid and stretched farther forward than he'd thought humanly possible. The skin curved outwards at least six inches, his belly button marking the furthest arc of the tight-stretched flesh. His cotton pants, stretched past their limit, sat low on his stomach, cutting painfully into his jutting belly. Sherlock moved his hands to rest on the bulge, even the lightest touch of his fingertips sending sparks of pain through his middle. 

His cock was rock hard in his pants, and he moved one hand down around his bulging stomach to press against his erection. He cried out in pain as he bent to move, finally laying flat on the couch. The new position stretched his stomach even further, and he panted in near agony for a few moments as his body adjusted. He slipped his pants down over his hips, pulling each leg up in turn to slide the cotton off. His thighs brushed against his belly and he grunted as he tugged the cloth over and off his legs, one hand on his stomach. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and slid his arms out, leaving him entirely nude lying prostrated on the couch, his stomach jutting even further into the air than his erection. 

Precome leaked from his cock as it bobbed in the air, and Sherlock reached down to wrap his fingers around the hard flesh. He began stroking slowly, letting the fluid lubricate his prick. The hand resting on his stomach rubbed in tandem with his pulls, and he pressed experimentally against his rigid flesh and grunted in the pleasure-pain sensation the movement caused. He rocked his hips up into his hand, groaning as his stomach muscles strained against the movement. Sherlock lost himself in the feeling of his hand on his cock and his palm pressing hard against his stomach. 

Sherlock was so absorbed that he never heard the door open. 

\---------------

John stood in the doorway of 221B, listening to the sound of Sherlock rubbing one out on the couch. He took note of the empty pizza box and cracker wrappers that were laying on the floor, and avoided looking at his flatmate-turned-lover as he made his way into the kitchen. The table was covered in empty containers…takeout, milk carton, cheese stick plastic, biscuit box. What on earth had Sherlock done with all this food? 

No evidence of the missing food was found in the bin, and there were no curious experiments on the worktop. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Which left one explanation:   
Sherlock had eaten all of it. 

John whipped around, fully expecting to see Sherlock having a wank nude on the sofa, which he was. What he didn't expect was for Sherlock to have a stomach stuffed so full of food that it appeared distended, expanded perhaps six or seven inches out from where it usually rested. The sight went straight to John's cock, and he bounded into the sitting room, dropping to his knees next to the couch. Sherlock's eyes were closed, and he groaned as his hands stroked his cock and rubbed against his swollen stomach. 

John tentatively lifted one hand and set it down against Sherlock's stretched skin. 

\-----------------

The detective's eyes shot open and his hands ceased moving as he looked at John. No words were spoken, but as John pressed against his belly Sherlock grunted and squeezed his eyes shut again. His hand on his cock started up again, and John rubbed his palm harder on the bulge. Sherlock heard John fumbling one-handedly for his belt and zip with his free hand as he continued to press against Sherlock's stomach. 

The hand disappeared briefly as John divested himself of his clothing, but it returned as John straddled Sherlock's hips. He settled both his palms against the curved flesh, kneading it gently and working a cry from low in Sherlock's throat. He was full, so full it hurt, and so hard in his hand that he had to squeeze behind the head of his cock to keep from coming. He took his hand away from his prick and moved it to John's hip, encouraging the man to lower himself and rub against him. John took the invitation and worked his hands harder as he settled down on Sherlock's legs, rubbing his hard cock against Sherlock's. The angle pressed Sherlock's cock against his belly, adding more pressure where Sherlock honestly wasn't sure any more could be taken. 

John, apparently, thought his stomach could take much more pressure, as evidenced by the doctor's hands pushing hard on his belly. Sherlock cried out sharply as the pain crested, and he opened his eyes to look at John. He was about to open his mouth, beg for mercy, when John moved one hand away and down and pressed a thumb against Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock shut his mouth and let John work at the tight ring of muscle. It was harder going than usual, Sherlock was dry and there was no lube within reach but they'd done it this way before and Sherlock really, really didn't want John to leave for any reason. 

Sherlock writhed as John slid his index finger inside, followed by his middle and then his ring finger. John's other hand continued to press on Sherlock's stomach, caressing and torturing in equal parts. John's fingers slid out of Sherlock's body and were quickly replaced by the head of his cock, leaking precome as John rubbed it against Sherlock's entrance. 

Sherlock's hand on his cock stilled as John pushed in, seating himself deep inside. Sherlock moaned at being filled, and John's hands were both on his stomach again, firm against the solid mass distending his skin. John started to piston in and out, slowly and shallowly at first but his strokes deepened and lengthened as Sherlock relaxed around him. Sherlock added the pressure of his own palms rubbing his stomach, and soon he was on the edge of orgasm. 

Sherlock shouted as John started to smack the tight flesh, the sharp slap of his fingers sending lightning pain through the stretched, reddened skin. Sherlock arched his back and rocked his hips back against John and screamed as he came, hot and hard and trembling. John finished soon after, stilling while seated fully in Sherlock's body, his hands shaking against Sherlock's full stomach. He pulled out after a few long moments, breathing heavily and collapsing between Sherlock's body and the couch. Sherlock twisted to lay on his side, his hand rubbing his belly, and felt John snug up behind him and add his hand to Sherlock's. His stomach gurgled discontentedly as it started to digest everything he'd consumed, sending waves of heat coursing through his body. Sherlock drifted off to sleep with John's hand rubbing his stretched sides slowly and languorously, and his last thought before his brain quieted was that maybe, just maybe, eating like this every once in awhile was worth the pain for all the pleasure.


End file.
